Chapter One
It is the Twelfth Day of the Eleventh Month.
School is a very bipolar activity. At times it is entertaining, at others it is a dull bore. The previous week, it has been the latter. It is Thursday. The first lesson is Literature and Poetry. It is entertaining enough, certainly more than my lessons yesterday, with Navigating and Medicine. I care little for medicine, for I do badly in it. It seems that healing others is not what I was made to do. Today, however, I am content, for I enjoy the works of William Shakespeare very much.
Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die! These words from Cymbeline intrigue me. The soul must hang until the tree – the body, the vessel – dies. But will – can – the soul continue life without an exterior? Then my father –
My thoughts are interrupted by Miss Girkt, the substitute teacher whom I greatly despise for her way of speaking to us. "Everyone," said Miss Girkt. "put your pencils down. We now visit Starfleet Academy." She pauses. "Mister Spock will be choosing students to join the Academy."
A surge of excitement tumbles through the classroom and squeals erupt from each table.
"Miss Girkt!"
"Oh, Miss Girkt!"
"Will I be chosen, Miss? Will I?"
She raises her finger to her lips. "Be on your best behaviour, children,"
This is the kindest I have ever heard her.